


Sherlock Confesses on the Runway

by crimsonwinter



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: M/M, Sherlock - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-07
Updated: 2014-02-07
Packaged: 2018-01-11 11:59:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,107
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1172806
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crimsonwinter/pseuds/crimsonwinter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock confesses his love to John on the runway before boarding the plane. Unfortunately, he's called back to save England and has to face his consequences.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sherlock Confesses on the Runway

**Author's Note:**

> I went back to edit the spacing on this and there are like four similes within the first five sentences woo i was excited about descriptive phrases or something
> 
> also I feel like Mary did something great in the car during those four minutes... I don't know... Maybe like, "I was waiting until he said it. Now you can be with him." 
> 
> GODDAMN

Mycroft nodded and stepped back, leaving his brother to say goodbye to John.

John, Sherlock’s friend. John, Sherlock’s sanity. John, Sherlock’s heartbeat. John, the reason Sherlock had come back.

The consulting detective swallowed hard, his countenance cold and impassive as he walked met his partner a few feet away. 

Sherlock Holmes held his ground firmly even though his head was pounding. His mind palace was trembling and his soft hands began to feel clammy, hidden away in the deep pockets of his usual black coat. The plane behind him was humming lightly, the grey sky making John’s peach skin stand out incredibly.

"John," Sherlock began. His rough voice, that of an avalanche, was more of tumbling pile of rocks as he swallowed his pride as well as his intensity.  
His friend looked at him with big eyes. John Watson’s brow was furrowed and his round face wasn’t smiling the way Sherlock wanted it to.

Sherlock knew that John was still upset with him about leaving him, and he was well aware that he was angry that Sherlock was leaving him again, but the tall, pale man had been silent for too long, and he needed to say it.

It’d been nearly a minute since John’s name fell from Sherlock’s lips like raindrops, and the shorter man was waiting for him to speak again, calm and quiet.

Sherlock’s heart of stone, which was once cold and frigid, began to leap wildly in his chest, straining to break his fragile ribs.

"I've never… I've never had someone call me their best friend, let alone give me the pleasure of being their best man." Sherlock’s words began to jump out of him like rubber bands, and he couldn’t stop them as they rushed to escape from his lungs.

"You welcomed me back into your life after I left you, you helped me recover from my past in every way, and you even hoped to keep me beside you once you started your life with your beautiful wife," Sherlock’s light eyes darted to Mary, who was smiling from the car. He nodded to her, "And it seems it’s the end, now. I tried to make a place for myself, but I couldn’t. I failed you and ran out of time, and now my selfish insanity has caused me to snap and ruin everything for you."

Sherlock only thought of John’s happiness as he struggled to make sense, the truth of the recent situation slipping between the cracks in his words. It seemed to him that John was astounded to hear him speak so colloquially and quickly, and luckily for Sherlock, he was patiently listening.

"John," he hid his nervous laughter. "My friend. I…"

Sherlock could feel Mycroft hold his breath from behind him, anticipating the words. Mary wasn’t as oblivious as she let on, but she waited beside the car in excitement just as his brother was.

"I seem to find myself… Loving you…"

John’s eyes widened, his tightly drawn mouth opening slightly. Sherlock wished dearly to know what he was thinking, for his deductions were muddied by his nervous thoughts. His hands clinging to the fabric inside his coat pockets, Sherlock looked John straight in the eyes and said it quickly, eager to run onto the plane and never come back.

"I’m in love with you, John Watson." 

Sherlock turned on his heels quicker than he could catch his breath, his long coat sweeping over the dark road. He pushed past Mycroft, his jaw sore as he clenched it. 

His usual pristine, clear mind was fuzzy. No longer was it filled with directions and information, now it only rang with the words he’d said. Sherlock pounded up the steps and into the plane, his pale cheeks bleeding with embarrassment.

"MYCROFT," Sherlock shouted, his nose crinkling with intensity.

His brother was down below, gaping at John, who Sherlock refused to look at. The fidgeting man was now strapped tightly into his seat, his long legs trembling. 

Mycroft appeared in Sherlock’s line of view, his form waving the sign for the doors to close.

The plane sealed Sherlock in, and in the seconds it took to start rolling, Sherlock had forgotten to breathe.

Once he could feel the speed gaining, Sherlock released all pressure. He scraped his sweaty palms across his forehead in anguish, his confession still weighing him down.

Luckily, the pilot had put on some trashy pop music, and Sherlock’s bitter hatred for it calmed him down.

Within minutes, Sherlock had calmed his mortification, replaced it with rage at himself for leaving, replaced that with doubt, and replaced that doubt with grievance. 

The dark haired man had finally returned his heartbeat to normal and was now placidly looking out the window.

He screamed internally once more, but that silent shriek was interrupted by a call from his brother.

"Sherlock, we need you back," Mycroft spoke from the phone, his voice tremulous and terrified.

"It’s only been four minutes," the man on the plane spat back.

The news that Sherlock heard next was immediately shouted to the pilot, who had seemingly already got the memo and was grumbling under his breath as he slowly turned the heavy machine back around.

Sherlock ran his fingers through his curled hair as speculated every moment of the roof incident, two years previous. 

Eventually, to the pilot’s dismay, the plane arrived on the runway once more, and as Sherlock unbuckled and stepped out cautiously, his pride swelled at the thought that England needed him.

With each downward step, Sherlock Holmes’s ego grew and his vast mind swarmed with ideas of how he could begin to solve this extreme case.

He was smug, certain his brother would hate him for his witty remark, but his eyes darted behind Mycroft and onto the car behind him, which was now slowing to a stop.

Mary climbed out first, smiling at Sherlock mysteriously. She knew something, but everything had come out when she mistakingly confessed her past to -

Sherlock’s stomach dropped instantly with the sight of John Watson nearly tripping out of the car, straightening himself out and following his wife towards the two brothers.

The high functioning sociopath was now the silent one, paralyzed in fear as the memory of his confession from not five minutes ago came cascading down on him.

John walked up to Sherlock with a tall posture, coming nearly too close for friends.

He stared Holmes down with a terribly fierce intensity. His gaze shot ice through Sherlock’s veins, for he feared nothing good would come with his disruption of his and John’s peace.

John cleared his throat menacingly.

"Bloody well time," he said.


End file.
